" I looked, and there along the top of my hill I saw a long line of bicyclists in khaki.

His crouching body, the head well in advance, somewhat after the manner of a racing bicyclist on the home-stretch, his compressed lips, his flashing eyes, with every muscle tense, were proof that he knew it had now become a struggle of life and death.

The bicyclist without a glance rode on, and shortly after reached the lodge gates.